The 12th Hunger Games
by KristynJ.BATBfan
Summary: The 12th Hunger Games is about to begin. Two lovers are chosen. The question is, how will they be able to kill each other?


"How many times is your name in the bowl this year, Clovis?" I ask my life-long friend as we walk in between the wooden houses of District 8.

Sadness clouds his eyes. He stares toward the place where the sun would be rising any minute now. "Seventy-eight times."

My heart stops. He would definitely be chosen with his name in there so many times.

"Mine's in there forty-two," I whisper, not even sure if he'll heard me over the roar of the hovercraft passing overhead.

The people from the Capitol were coming in and tons of troops had been keeping things in order the past few days.

Clovis turns to face me. "If I get chosen," he says and takes my hands in his, fighting back tears, "don't spend your life thinking about me. Find someone else. Promise me this."

I couldn't promise him anything. What if he and I were both chosen? Then whom would kill whom? "You won't get chosen." I tell him. "I know it. Besides, this is your last year."

"But, Fern, you don't understand. I love you. I can't bear the thought of leaving you behind," he says.

"The let's run away. We can get past the fence easily. I've done it before."

"What if we get caught? We'll be turned into Avox and then have to serve the ones who will eventually die in the games."

"I can't bear the thought of you dying out there," I say, resting my head on his chest.

"It's okay," Clovis reassures me as he wraps his arms around me.

* * *

I squeeze into the group of 17 year olds and try to spot Clovis amid the group of boys across the road.

I find him and catch his gaze. He stares deep into my eyes.

"Don't be afraid," he mouths to me.

I nod.

The announcer says a few things then we have to watch the video clip of the destruction of District 13. I close my eyes through half of it, hating this whole stupid mess.

I glimpse my younger sister, Silk, in the section next to mine. We both stand there, sensing fear in each other's green eyes.

I whisper, "It's going to be okay."

Before I know it, the announcer—I hadn't caught his name—fishes around in the bowl of girls' names and pulls one out. I close my eyes and cross my fingers behind my back, praying it's not me.

"Fern Jesabea!"

I barely hear my name being called.

"Come, where are you?" the announcer asks.

I step forward. All eyes land on me. I try to search for Silk but can't find her.

"Well, come forward."

I walk as slowly as I dare, not completely aware of the situation. Someone helps me onto the stage.

"Any volunteers?" the announcer asks, his voice chirpy.

Silence.

"Alright, on to the boys."

I close my eyes, praying it wasn't my little brother, Drade.

"Clovis..."

My eyes shoot open as I block out the rest. Seconds later Clovis joins me on stage.

"Let's give a round of applause for our two tributes, Fern Jesabea and Clovis Walker, for honoring District 8 in the 12th annual Hunger Games."

No one seems to be paying attention. Clovis and I are known around the district; Clovis for his skill of craftsmanship, and me for my good squirrel stew I make and hand out to hungry kids.

Moments later we are being pushed along and taken to a small room to say our goodbyes.

Silk runs toward me, wrapping her arms around my waist. "Fern, don't go. I'm going to miss you. Please stay," she begs, tears streaming down her face.

"I have to. It's part of the rules," I tell her, kneeling down to her eye level. I brush a strand of golden hair behind her ear and continue, "But, I'll try my hardest to win. For you. Okay?"

She looks me in the eyes and nods.

Mom hugs me, sobbing as she talks. "I never thought it'd end this way. I–"

"Mom," I interrupt, "it's going to be okay. I'll try my hardest to win. But if I don't...look after Silk. For me. Teach her everything she needs to know. Keep her safe."

"Goodbye, dear," my mom says, hugging me tightly.

"Bye," I reply through sobs.

Next, we're shoved into a train and forced to sit in these big cushy chairs.

"Eat all you want. Everything's free here," the maid says to us. _It costs us our lives, though_, I want to scream at her.

Clovis turns toward me. His emotions reflect mine.

"I had no idea..." Clovis tells me, sipping some water from a glass.

"Me neither. It's no one's fault. All we can do now is treasure every moment before we enter the arena."

At that moment, the car door opens and a woman about six feet tall with broad shoulders and a mean scowl on her face struts over to our chairs.

I somehow recognise her.

Then, I remember; she's the last victor from District 8. She'd won the Games the year I was born. My mother had told me the story plenty of times. She'd been lucky. Only being 12, she was the first one who was expected to die. But, to everyone's surprise, she lasted longer. With only her and one other tribute left, the bids were on the boy from District 1. Then, she'd outsmarted him by climbing a tree while he was being chased by wild mountain lions. Her story was well-known throughout the Districts.

"Hello, young ones. I'm your trainer, Rosebud. But you can call me Rose. And you must be Clovis and Fern,"—she scrunches her nose at the mention of my name—"the tributes for our lovely District 8. It's nice to finally meet you."

I begin to wonder if she doesn't like me.

She notices my confusion and sighs. "Everyone knows you, Fern, not just the people like you but also the mayor and I. You'd better stay out of trouble if you want to win."

I nod, trying to keep myself together.

"So, is it true?" she asks us.

"What?" I ask.

"That you two are lovers."

"Well–" I start.

Clovis cuts me off. "No," he says, shaking his head, "we're more like acquaintances. I only see her in school. That's about it."

I glare at him. He sends me a silent message that he'll explain later.

"Alrighty, if that's all, I'm going to bed. Get lots of sleep. Theses next few days are going to be busy…" Rose's voice trails off as she turns her back to us and leaves the dining car.

"Seems like a bossy one. We'd better get to bed," Clovis says, trying to laugh.

"You're right."

We get up and leave the dining car, enter into the drinking car, pass three more cars, then enter our own car.

I find my room and am glad when it's just across from Clovis'.

After changing into a silky night dress, I knock on Clovis' door.

He answers and lets me in.

"So...about earlier," I tell him, clasping my freezing hands together to try to keep warm.

We move to his bed and sit down. "I thought it'd be better if we didn't tell anyone. Might be useful for later, y'know? Like getting sponsors or something," he replies, taking my cold hands in his.

"Okay, I can live with that," I reply.

I wish I could freeze this moment forever. With no Hunger Games or death. Just Clovis and myself.

Tears start to fall down my cheeks, warming my face. I hadn't been able to grasp the situation until now. Clovis wraps his arms around me and lets me cry into his soft night shirt. I sniffle minutes later, after I finish crying. I can hear Clovis crying too, trying to hold it in, to be strong for me.

"It's okay," I tell him while rubbing his back, "you can cry."

He lets it out. Sobbing louder than me. I pull him closer and try to comfort him. Clovis looks up at me after he calms down. His eyes cloud, emotions swirling around his mind.

I lean forward and kiss him.

His arms encircle around my back, seeming to protect me from danger. The taste of mint on his lips makes me want to kiss him longer. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back. A minute later, Clovis pulls away, his body tense, eyes cold.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"It's just... This might be our last kiss and I want to let you know that, no matter what happens, I'll always love you," he says, his blue eyes fixed on mine.

"Shh, don't talk like that. It'll be okay," I reply, trying to make him feel better.

"No! It's not okay! Don't you understand? One of us is going to have to die. We both can't win," he exclaims, raising his voice.

I shrink back, startled by his sudden outburst. "I didn't want to believe it. I knew that if I kept telling myself this is all a dream, I wouldn't believe it was real," I state, my eyes watering again.

He nods and holds me in his arms.

* * *

I leave an hour later, my eyes barely able to hold themselves open. As I slip into bed, I pray this is all a dream and I'll wake up in my own bed in the morning.

After sleeping on and off for two hours I decide to walk around the car.

A cracking sounds makes me turn my head around. I follow the noise, my heart pounding. Who would be up at this hour of the night?

I climb a ladder leading to the noise. A small cry escapes from the culprit. A cry I've know all my life.


End file.
